Surfacing
Part 7
By Lauren
“Drew!” a voice called out from over her. It was familiar. It was male.
She opened her eyes carefully, slowly. It was Ray.
His face was positively joyful. “Drew, honey, don’t do anything…don’t go anywhere…stay here until I get back with the doctors,” he ordered.
Drew tried to smile, but her face hurt. Her body still felt detached from her mind, but pain was seeping in slowly, as if tiny cracks were forming in her brick wall and liquid was trickling through.
“No!” she screamed when she felt her back twinge, then sear with pain. Ray turned back from the door, his eyes wide.
“Drew, no, stay with me, Drew, don’t go back there,” he pleaded as she drifted back into the quiet darkness that she was becoming adjusted to. The last sensation she felt before she pulled completely away from reality was the pressure of Ray’s hands, one on her cheek, the other wrapped around her own.
So, once again, her mind sucked her in, like a vacuum, like a black hole. She felt herself being slammed against walls that she couldn’t see, and then she fell hard on the floor, and two doors slid open in front of her, showing her the memory before she remembered it.
I’m in an elevator, she decided. Hmm…an elevator…am I at Towers?
The doors opened further and she saw that she wasn’t at Towers, she was at the Springfield Journal office. The place looked fantastic; Fletcher had bought the paper back from Holly when he had returned to Springfield, and he had completely remodeled the place. The whole place was open, warehouse style, the ceiling extending up another floor. Three of the four walls were glass plate windows, giving a fantastic view of Springfield. A huge clock had been mounted on the outside of the high-rise building, and the gears faced in through one of the glass walls. Cubicles and desks were arranged haphazardly throughout the room, and journalists and photographers milled about. The elevator doors were on a slight platform, along with soda and candy machines, with the main floor sunken below.
Drew steeled herself, and walked in. It was February second, a little more than one month after Jesse’s revelation about his health. Lately, his lethargy and shortness of breath had become more apparent, and they had talked the night before about telling Max. Drew had a suspicion that Max had known for a long time that something was wrong, but no one had said anything.
After Drew stepped out of the elevator, she descended a small staircase, and began weaving her way back to Fletcher’s office, the only closed space in the room. She passed an overweight blonde woman arguing over the telephone and ducked in between an older looking reporter and a younger boy, most likely a copy boy. She finally reached the office just as the big clock struck four.
“Mr. Reade?” Drew called out, twisting the doorknob lightly and opening the door a crack. “Mr. Reade, are you here?”
Fletcher’s big leather chair was turned around facing the wall, and it was slowly swiveling back and forth. To Drew’s sudden surprise, a dart flew out from the chair and stuck in a target mounted on the wall. There was a picture in the target, but Drew was too far away to see it clearly.
“Fletcher!” she exclaimed louder, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind her.
The chair swung around quickly, but instead of Fletcher, a young man sat in it. Drew judged that he was probably twenty-five or twenty-six. His dark hair was mussed, and a five o’clock shadow was apparent on his chin. His eyes went from wide and surprised to calm and interested.
“Happy Groundhog’s Day,” he said with a boyish grin.
Drew raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Fletcher?” she asked.
He grinned wider, leaning forward and reaching out his hand. Drew grasped it and shook it firmly. “Andy Reardon,” he introduced himself. “Fletcher’s out of town on business, and I’m watching the paper for him.”
Drew’s brow furrowed. “If Fletcher’s not here, then why isn’t Holly looking after things?”
“Well, the business had to do with their daughter,” Andy clarified. “So, you know who I am, are you going to tell me who you are?”
“Drew Jacobs,” she replied, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I own Millennium, a club downtown…”
“I’ve been there once,” Andy said with a slight nod. “For a cup of coffee.”
“Well, anyway, I’m here to talk to Fletcher about the ads in the paper for the club,” Drew said.
Andy shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t really help you with that. I’ve only been here a few months.”
Drew squinted her eyes. “If you’ve only been here a few months, then why in the world would Fletcher Reade trust you with his precious Journal?”
Andy laughed. “Well, I can see that you aren’t one to waste words. I went to college with Ben; we played on the same tennis team. We’re old friends.”
“Ah, my illustrious bartender,” Drew agreed. Ben had begun showing real prowess as a bartender; his knowledge of liquor was much more expansive than Drew would have guessed.
“Yeah, that’s the one. So, here I am, only at my second big newspaper job, playing editor-in-chief for a few days.”
“That’s quite a story,” Drew said with a genuine smile. It wasn’t very often that people talked to her without antagonism.
“I suppose so. So, I’m sorry, but I really can’t help with the ads. But maybe…” he began, his voice trailing off when a soft knock was heard at the door.
“Andy?” Marah’s voice called out as she opened the door. “Oh, Drew, I didn’t know you were here.” Drew noted the falling note in Marah’s voice.
“Drew was looking for ad help from Fletcher,” Andy said, and Drew could hear Dahlia’s voice buzzing in her ear, saying, “Hm, Drew, having to resort to personal ads now?”
“Oh,” Marah responded. “Well, I can come back later…” She stepped into the room, her black pantsuit showing off her petite figure, her brown hair swinging at her shoulders.
“If you’re looking for Ben, I haven’t seen him,” Andy said absently.
“No, actually, I needed to talk to you about a legal matter I’m helping out with,” she corrected. “But it’s not really urgent, so if you could just call me whenever you’re free, we could talk.”
“Well, I was just leaving,” Drew offered. “I mean, since you really can’t help me out with these ads, I’ll just come talk to Fletcher when he gets back.”
“It was nice meeting you, Drew,” Andy offered.
“You, too,” she agreed. “Marah, good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Marah replied, her tone a little chillier than when she spoke to Andy.
Drew nodded, stepping out of the room and closing the door so that only a small amount of light showed between the door and the doorjamb. Marah’s always been a little secretive, Drew mused. Wonder what she’s got to hide. Are she and this Andy Reardon involved?
Checking the surrounding area to make sure no one was watching, Drew crouched near the slightly open door and pressed her ear close, so that she could hear what Marah and Andy were talking about.
“Why in the world would you agree to get involved in this Santos mess?” Andy asked incredulously.
“Andy, come on, be serious! If Griffin has enough faith in me to ask for my help in such a big case, how could I possibly refuse?” Marah argued.
“You’re a law student, Mar, not a prosecutor. These Santos people are dangerous. I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to be involved in a legal matter with them.”
“Don’t you trust me to look out for myself?”
“Of course I trust you. You’re one of my best friends, Marah. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know the Santos family, Andy. Danny and Michelle are good friends of mine, and they’re perfectly good people.”
“Michelle’s my cousin, I know she’s a good person. But I don’t trust Danny.”
“What has Danny ever done to you to make you distrust him?”
“It’s not anything he’s done. But, Marah, he was raised in a ruthless family. It’s a part of people like that. I did a story on a mob family when I worked in Boston.”
“And you don’t think he could have changed? He’s got a family, now, Andy. Don’t you think that would be enough of a motive to change?”
“I don’t know…but what I do know is, that from all the reports I’ve gotten so far from my contacts, Danny’s in the thick of it. He was even injured in a hit in November of last year.”
Drew’s lips parted a little, remembering Michelle’s words to Marah on New Year’s Eve: “He…he was in an accident.” Hm. Some accident.
“I know all of that,” Marah said softly. “Griffin filled me in on everything that’s happened.”
“Tell me the truth, Marah,” Andy requested.
Marah’s voice was tight. “Exactly what do you think I’m lying to you about?”
“Are you doing this for Lewis Oil?”
“Am I doing this…my God, Andy, are you insinuating that I’d get involved in a case like this to pull my family’s company out from under Phillip Spaulding when Griffin’s not looking?” Marah asked in disbelief.
“Marah, I’ve only known you for a few months, but I know you well enough. You’re willing to do anything to get that company back, even if it means going against your boss.”
“Andy, keep in mind that I still have a few months before I take the bar. Don’t you think that it’d be a little hard to pull the wool over Griffin’s eyes to destroy Spaulding?”
“I don’t mean to sound harsh—“
“—well, you’re not succeeding—“
“—but Marah, this is a sink or swim situation, and I know that you can’t swim. Literally, not figuratively.”
Marah’s voice was firm. “Andy, I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m observing a case with a respectable lawyer.”
“Yeah, but the case deals with one of the most dangerous crime families in Springfield.”
“Oh, come on, exactly how many crime families do you know of in Springfield?”
“Please, Mar, don’t get sarcastic on me. I’m just worried about you.”
“Well, that’s nice, Andy, but I didn’t come to make you tear your hair out with concern. I just wanted to know what you knew about the goings on in the last few months.”
“You think I’m going to reveal all of my tips on this story to an almost-lawyer? I was right: you are crazy.”
“It’s not like I’m a rival journalist. And you said you didn’t want me to get hurt. Don’t you agree that it’s best I know all the background on the case that I can before I get in too deep?”
Andy sighed deeply. “I don’t know a whole lot more than you, probably.”
“Excuse me,” a booming voice said from behind Drew.
She whirled around, her eyes wide. The owner of the voice wasn’t booming or large at all; he was a slight, middle-aged, balding man. “Can I help you with something?”
“Uh…ah…no,” Drew stammered. “I was just leaving.”
“You know, I was just going to suggest that,” the smarmy reporter said.
Drew smiled, not showing any teeth. “Well, I’ll be going then. Nice chatting with you.”
The older man shook his head, and Drew scurried off. “Whew,” she said under her breath as she walked into the elevator. “Well, it looks as if Danny’s hiding a few things from his wife and her expanding waistline.”
She shook her head, digging into her purse. Her fingers passed over the cut-out newspaper ads for Millennium and her checkbook, finally resting on the little black notebook she had pilfered from Selena’s desk a few months earlier. She’d found no leads on her father, no trace of who he was or where he was. “Is it time for me to give up?” she mused. Honestly, she knew she hadn’t been looking very hard. But with Jesse…
No, don’t think about that now, Drew, she ordered herself. There’s absolutely no reason to make yourself cry on the way to the lobby.
The elevator doors slid shut, and so did Drew’s memory. And, for some reason, the only thing she could remember was the gentle pressure of Ray’s rough hand on her face.